Page 146 of Scandalous Contract

"Fuck, baby," he groaned against my skin. "You feel so good. I thought about you all damn day."

I whimpered, arching into him, nails digging into his shoulders. His hard length pressed against the thin cotton of my boy shorts that barely covered all my ass. I ground down against him shamelessly, loving the friction.

His mouth found mine again, even rougher this time, his teeth nipping my bottom lip before he slid one hand between us.

"These little shorts," he muttered, voice thick with desire as he pushed them aside, finding me wet and ready. "You wore these knowing what they do to me, didn’t you?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but he slid two fingers inside me, and all that came out was a broken, gasping moan.

"That's what I thought," he growled, pumping his fingers slow and deep, curling them just right to make my hips buck against him. "So fucking wet for me."

I gripped his shirt, trying to haul him closer, but he was already moving, undoing his belt with quick fingers, dragging his pants down just enough to free his cock. And fuck, he was hard. Rock solid, thick, and ready

"Julian," I begged, grinding down against his thigh, desperate for him, dizzy with arousal.

"It’s coming, baby," he murmured, lining himself up against me. "I got you."

And then he was pushing inside with one hard, brutal stroke that had me clawing at his back, moaning his name as he stretched me. He hissed against my throat as he bottomed out in my pussy, his hands gripping my hips.

"You feel like fucking heaven," he rasped, rocking into me with hard, shallow thrusts that sent sparks skittering down my spine.

I clung to him, every muscle locking tight, every nerve ending sparking to life.

"Harder," I whispered, and he gave it to me, slamming into me with a desperate rhythm, like he needed this every bit as badly as I did.

The couch creaked under us, the air thick with the sounds of skin on skin, breathless moans, gasping curses.

"You love this dick, don’t you, baby?" he grunted against my ear. "You love it when I come home and take you like this, don’t you?"

"Yes," I sobbed, nails raking down his back. "Hell yes."

He shifted slightly, changing the angle, cock driving deeper into me. I groaned his name, my body clamping down around him like a vice.

"That's it," he growled. "Grip this cock. Fucking soak me, baby."

It didn't take much more. A few more brutal thrusts and I was falling apart, my whole body shaking as the orgasm ripped through me, leaving me a whimpering, gasping mess in his arms.

He followed with a broken groan, body jerking against mine as he spilled inside me, holding me against him tightly. We stayed there, clinging to each other, breathless and shaking, the only sound in the room our ragged breathing and the faint creak of the couch underneath us.

“I hope I’ve inspired you to write a quickie scene,” he whispered, breaking the silence.

My chuckle drifted through the air. “Hell yeah, you have.”

After a long minute, Julian lifted his head, brushing my sweaty hair back from my face with a sweet tenderness I’d become addicted to.

"I fucking love you," he whispered, voice low.

And there was that savagery I craved also. I stared at him, sated and dazed. I saw that love in his eyes, and I knew he was ready to hear me say it back. I was saying it in my heart. I just couldn’t say it aloud yet.

Instead, I gripped his shirt collar and pulled him in for another kiss. Though I’d showered before he got home, I showered again with him. And that night, I fell asleep in his arms, face against his chest, breathing in the scent of his body wash.

I could say without a shadow of doubt that I was addicted to Julian Cattaneo. Which was why the first thing I was going to do tomorrow was message Archie’s mother. It was time for me to have an overdue conversation with his family.

It was time for me to set those boundaries I’d been wanting to set for so long. The next morning, after I kissed Julian goodbye and watched him walk to his car, I went back inside and sent a text to my ex-mother-in-law. It was a simple text.

“We need to talk. Come to my house today at 11 a.m. Please be on time.”

No explanation. One wasn’t needed. There was only one thing I could possibly want to talk to her about. The hour that followed was a haze of wiping counters, fluffing pillows, and rearranging things that didn’t need moving.